


You've got enough to rumble with.

by barthelme



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme





	You've got enough to rumble with.

i.

The first time, Cesc is drunk.

It’s late on a Friday night (really, early Saturday morning) and Iker’s grading papers in the study—really, the spare bedroom—when he hears a key jiggle in the lock for a few long moments before the door is kicked open. Cesc’s loud, slamming the door shut and stumbling into the apartment. Two similar thuds echo through the apartment as he kicks his shoes off.

Before he sees Cesc, before he even hears his voice, Iker knows Cesc is drunk. He rolls his eyes and circles a misspelled word, draws a line to the margin and writes, “dialogue refers to conversation. dialog refers to text.” He turns a page of the draft and leans down, hovering close to the paper. It’s not bad, but it’s late and Iker’s been grading papers since Cesc left. The sun was still up then and Cesc had pleaded (“Baby, c’mon. It’ll be fun and you know Geri will buy the drinks.” He’d even pouted a bit, but Iker said, “You know I hate it when you call me baby. And I have papers to grade.” Cesc rolled his eyes and pulled a shirt on—one of Iker’s. It was too big.) but Iker was adamant.

Cesc’s staggered footsteps pull Iker away from his work. He turns his head and stares at the door, watching Cesc’s shadow pass by. Iker sighs and looks back at the stack of drafts. He’s almost done. Just three more to go. Lesson plans can wait until tomorrow.

Iker hears the faint flick of the switch in the bedroom, and then a groan. “Iker,” Cesc says.

“In here,” Iker calls. He squiggles his pen under a weak description.

The bedroom light flicks off and there’s more stumbling, staggering, finally the door is pushed open. “Baby,” Cesc says. “You should’ve come.”

Iker rolls his eyes. “You drank enough for both of us, I’m sure. And don’t call me baby. It’s annoying.” He sets his pen down and turns to look at Cesc. “You have a good time?”

When Cesc’s within reach, Iker pulls him close, presses his nose against Cesc’s side. He feels Cesc rest against him, use Iker for support. Everything about Cesc is warm, pliant. “The best time. We went to Pep’s.”

Iker wrinkles his nose. “That place is trashy as fuck. And the guys are—”

“I know. This creeper with gross hair kept groping at Geri and then he tried to get me to—” Cesc stops and runs his fingers through Iker’s hair. He swallows, and Iker can actually hear the movement in Cesc’s throat. The thickness. “Tried to get me to go home with him.”

Iker makes a soft noise, somewhere between understanding and annoyance.

“I said,” Cesc tightens his grip on Iker’s locks and Iker lets him, lets him tug at his hair and pull his head back. Smiles as he cranes his neck to look up at Cesc. “Said I had a nice mouth waiting for me back at home.”

Home. Iker grins at the word. Cesc only moved in a few weeks ago, and it’s the first time he has used the word “home” to describe Iker’s—their—apartment. Cesc referred to it as “the apartment” or “your place.” But Iker wants him to think of it as home. Wants Cesc to leave his dirty laundry on the bedroom floor and eat cereal without asking for Iker’s permission.

“Then I was thinking about it all night.” Cesc drops his grip on Iker’s hair, moving his hands to his belt. “Thinking about your mouth, baby.”

“Cesc,” Iker starts, but then Cesc’s hand is gripping his jaw, thumb digging into the hollow of his cheek. When Iker tries to turn his head away, Cesc tightens his grip and pulls Iker’s face up, forces Iker to look at him. “Don’t call me—”

Cesc still has one hand tugging on his belt. “I’ll call you what I want.” He pushes Iker’s face away and Iker licks his lips, watches Cesc struggle to undo his pants. He finally gets his belt undone and moves to the button, the zipper, lets his pants fall to his ankles.

Cesc half steps, half falls, as he moves to the desk and sits on top of the drafts. “Cesc,” Iker starts, but he shuts up when Cesc spreads his legs—at least as much as he can—and starts rubbing himself through his briefs. He’s hard, already so hard, and Iker doesn’t even have to think about it. He pushes Cesc’s hand out of the way and leans forward, hovering over the bulge in front of him like he had his student’s draft.

“Yeah,” Cesc says, pressing down on the back of Iker’s head. His breathing is heavy and Iker knows this isn’t going to last long.

The last time Iker had been this excited to suck Cesc, they’d just started dating. Cesc was living in the dorms and Iker still worked at the library. It was after a movie, some romantic comedy Cesc wanted to see and Iker complained about, but secretly liked. And Iker pulled into the parking lot, right up to the walkway, and put the car in park. Cesc—god, he was young. Nineteen, then—stared at his lap, and said, “My roommate’s gone for the weekend.” Then, he blinked, slowly, letting his eyes stay closed longer than Iker wanted, and finally looked over at Iker. “I can show you that book I was telling you about.”

Iker didn’t know what book Cesc was talking about—he vaguely remembers Cesc telling him about some novel he’d just read, but just bits and pieces of the conversation—but he quickly shifted into drive and found a parking spot. He knew he’d get a ticket for parking in the student lot, but he didn’t care.

They’d been dating—casually, informally, semi-seriously—for little more than a month. Most of the time, they went out for lunch or dinner, saw movies or visited museums. One time, Cesc went to Iker’s for dinner and they watched some trashy reality show that Cesc laughed during. They made out a bit, and at one point Iker kneaded Cesc’s ass through his jeans. But that was about it and Iker wanted to take any chance he could.

Iker was hard by the time they made it up Cesc’s dorm. He kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with Cesc’s neighbors. He didn’t want to be known as the creepy old guy about to fuck some sophomore.

Cesc’s dorm was exactly how Iker had imagined: messy, packed with more shit than two boys needed, and covered with Barcelona paraphernalia. Iker doesn’t remember much between the door closing and falling onto Cesc’s bed, trying to touch every bit of the boy that he could. But, what he does remember, is kissing down Cesc’s lithe torso, lapping at his side, and pressing his palm against the bulge in Cesc’s jeans. He remembers pressing his nose against Cesc’s crotch before looking up at him and asking, “This is okay, yeah?”

And Cesc nodding frantically as he clutched his quilt.

Cesc has that same desperate clutch now, tugging at Iker’s hair. “Fucking suck my cock, baby.” He tauntingly emphasizes the last word, laughing when Iker responds only by sighing heavily against Cesc’s crotch.

Iker lets Cesc pulls his head back, watches as Cesc pushes his briefs down. The drafts crinkle underneath Cesc’s thighs, but Iker doesn’t care. He’ll say they got squished in his bag.

It’s not the best blowjob Iker’s given, but it’s the best he can do with Cesc pulling at his hair, squirming. The best he can do with Cesc trying to fuck up into Iker’s mouth. Iker lets him, holds onto Cesc’s thighs so he doesn’t slide off the desk. It’s quick, rough, and Iker has never thought he’d like this—never thought Cesc could be like this—but his own cock is hard. Uncomfortably hard. He reaches down and his fingers are barely grazing the bulge in his sweatpants before Cesc is slapping at his bicep. “Don’t fucking touch yourself.” He holds Iker down on his cock, gasps, “Want you to fuck me after this.”

And all Iker can do is close his eyes and open his throat and groan around Cesc’s cock.

 

ii.

The next time Cesc asks Iker to go out with “the guys,” Iker says yes. He has tests to grade and a few reading guides to type up, but Cesc’s been bitching that they never do anything with “the guys.” Iker wants to say, “The guys are really annoying and immature,” but he doesn’t. Honestly, he likes most of them. He just doesn’t want to be friends with them.

But, he agrees and they walk the three blocks to Pep’s and Iker has to keep reminding himself how much he loves Cesc. In his head, he repeats everything he loves about Cesc: his hair in the mornings, how he wears flip flops in the winter, his laugh, how much he cares about everyone else, how much he cares about Iker, the way his toes curl when Iker fucks him, how hard he tries to deep throat Iker, the way he never lets Iker win at anything, the way he pouts when he loses.

The bar is loud but Geri is louder. He’s yelling about something (his job, his girlfriend, something. Iker doesn’t care.) and Iker reaches for his beer. Finishes it in a few gulps and waves at the bartender.

Pep is one of the few things Iker likes about this bar. He owns the place, but he still bartends when things get busy. Still mops the floor at night and breaks up fights. “Jesus, Pique, do you ever shut up?” Pep sets Iker’s beer down, tosses the cap in the direction of the garbage.

Geri does shut up, momentarily, and grins at Pep. “You know you love it.”

Pep’s eyes go wide. He leans against the bar, stares at Geri. “I don’t, actually. Now, shut up.”

Geri’s grin falters for a moment, but then he sees Cesc walking back from the bathroom and yells. “Cesc! Pep’s being a dick.”

Pep jerks his thumb at Geri, asks Iker, “How the hell do you put up with him?”

Iker rolls his eyes. “Cesc.”

There’s a split second where Iker feels like a total tool. A lovestruck idiot. But, Pep’s reaching across the bar, pressing his palm against Iker’s cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but he nods before walking away.

Iker turns on his stool and watches Cesc weave between bodies. He thumbs the neck of his beer and grins when Cesc stumbles over his own feet. Geri’s saying something again and Iker nods.

Cesc is only a few feet away when some guy with shitty hair grabs his arm. He pulls him over to the table he’s at, presses his palm against the back of Cesc’s thigh. Iker watches for a moment, narrows his eyes and waits until Cesc tries to pull away before he gets up.

“Cesc can ta—” Geri starts, but Iker’s already standing up, taking a long gulp from his beer. Cesc’s grabbing the man’s wrist, pulling. “Iker. Let Cesc—”

But Iker’s setting his beer down and walking over to the table. Cesc looks up and rolls his eyes. “Iker, go sit down.” He tugs the man’s hand free and takes a step back. “He was just saying hi.”

The man looks up at Iker, smiles. “I was just saying hi.” He holds his hands up, wiggles his fingers. “No harm done, yeah?”

But Iker’s had a bit too much to drink—he’s never been good at knowing when to quit—and he shoves at the guy’s shoulder, asks, “Aren’t you a bit old to be—”

“Iker,” Cesc warns, tugs at Iker’s shirt. “Let’s go.”

The man stands up and he’s not tall, but he’s broad. “Aren’t you a bit too old to be fucking college kids?”

Iker knows he’s about to get his ass kicked and is about to say something to speed up the process when Cesc is shoving at Iker’s chest, hard. “Go.”

“I’m not done with this fucker,” Iker says, but he’s moving back, letting Cesc push him back to the bar.

“Yeah, you are,” Cesc says.

Geri’s already paid and hands Iker his coat, helps Cesc steer him to the door.

Later, after Geri’s turned off on his street, Iker is using Cesc like a crutch. They’re a block from their apartment. Cesc says, “I’m not a fucking child, Iker.”

“That guy wanted to—”

“I know what he wants to do. But he’s not going to. Ever.” Cesc stops and pushes Iker up against the side of a building, holds him there. Presses hard against Iker’s shoulders. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Iker rolls his eyes, tries to push away from the wall. Cesc’s stronger than he thought. “What? Defend my boyfriend?”

“I don’t need you to defend me.”

“That guy was twice your—”

Cesc pushes even harder. “I don’t fucking care, Iker. I’m not some bitch you need to coddle. And, while we’re at it, I can do my own fucking laundry. Christ, I’m twenty-one. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Iker’s sobered up enough to know better than to say something stupid. He just nods. His body slumps a bit when Cesc lets go and starts walking away.

Iker stumbles after him. Touches his own shoulder, smiles remembering Cesc’s touch.

 

iii.

They’re at Bed Bath & Beyond and Iker wants to get another green shower curtain to replace the ugly green shower curtain. Cesc sighs.

“What? You don’t like green?” Iker puts his hands on his hips. He fakes annoyance, but is really happy Cesc’s making a stand. Two years ago, Iker had to beg for hours to get Cesc to pick which restaurant he wanted to eat at. It wasn’t that Cesc was submissive; he was just—is just—really indecisive. Maybe a tad submissive, though. “Who the fuck doesn’t like green?”

“There’s just so much green, Iker. The plates. The couch. The curtains. The comforter. Our house looks like a jungle.” He turns to the wall of shower curtains and squints. After a long moment, he grabs a curtain that’s red and white. Stripes. “This one.” He doesn’t say please or look for Iker’s approval, just starts walking to the register.

Iker calls after him, “That looks like a barber pole!” But he puts the green curtain back. Stalks after Cesc.

 

iv.

It’s a Thursday night and Cesc’s night class was canceled. Iker only has a half day at the middle school on Friday. So, it’s late and Cesc’s straddling one of Iker’s thighs, grinding against him. His mouth is hot on Iker’s ear, breath coming in jerky pants. “Like feeling my cock?” Cesc pants, “Feeling how hard you make me?”

Iker doesn’t know what to say. Cesc’s never been very verbal; he’s never fucked a guy other than Iker. Only slept with two girls. From the sounds of it, Cesc didn’t even have that much sex with them. And it wasn’t very good. He’s usually quiet, lets Iker do what he wants.

Unless he’s drunk.

But, he’s not drunk and he’s reaching for Iker wrists, pressing them down against the couch cushion. “Want me to touch you?”

He pulls back and grins down at Iker, who nods, chokes, “Please.”

Cesc grins, wide and toothy. “If you’re good, maybe I will.” He presses his thumb against Iker’s pulse, grinds harder.

Iker hasn't come in his pants in years, but he thinks tonight might be the night that changes.

 

v.

Iker knows Cesc thinks about it. Iker will be doing dishes and Cesc will walk by on his way to the fridge, let his hand graze Iker’s ass.

Or, they’ll be in bed, just talking. Between Iker’s job and hours spent planning for class, and Cesc’s classes and part-time job at the grocery store, there isn’t a lot of time to talk some days. There are weeks where they just talk in passing, give quick kisses as the other walks out the door. At first, they used to fuck. Long fucks with Cesc’s legs wrapped around Iker’s waist, Iker’s mouth pressed against Cesc’s collarbone. But, eventually, they started fucking less and talking more. They’d face one another and sometimes Iker would touch Cesc’s hip, his chest. Most times, Cesc would press his palm against Iker’s ass, mold the flesh in his hand.

Iker likes that. It’s been a long time since anyone’s touched him like that.

If Iker’s honest, he’s thought about it, too. It started before the night on the couch and the time Cesc came home drunk. He’s not sure when it started, but.

Well, then.

They’re in bed and Cesc’s running his thumb along the elastic of Iker’s briefs. Rambling about some girl in his class who never shuts up. “It’s always just. Talk talk talk. I don’t care about your fucking boyfriend, you know? No one does. And it’s like everything in her life somehow relates to whatever topic we’re talking about. So fucking obnoxious.” Even in the dark, Iker can see the roll of Cesc’s eyes. “I’m not paying to hear this bitch talk, you know?”

Iker likes when Cesc gets like this. A bit heated. “I know.” He scoots a bit closer until their thighs are touching. Barely.

Absently—Iker’s fairly sure Cesc doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—Cesc slips his hand below the Iker’s waistband, places his hand on Iker’s ass. He doesn’t squeeze or pinch, doesn’t grab. Just places his hand on the flesh. “I can’t wait to be done.”

Iker smiles. “Another month.” He leans in and kisses Cesc’s lips, his cheek. “Cesc,” he whispers.

“I don’t think I’m walking. I mean, everyone I like has either graduated or isn’t walking. Geri’s not walking. Leo is, but only because his mom wants him to. And—Iker?”

Iker reaches back, grabs Cesc wrist. “Cesc,” Iker says. And his voice is low, steady. Calmer than he feels.

He hasn’t done this in a long time. Not with Cesc, not with the guy before Cesc, not with the guy before the guy before Cesc. It’s been a really fucking long time. But, he hasn’t trusted many people in a long time. Iker’s a control freak; he knows this. He’s always said, “If something goes wrong, I want to know who to blame.”

Slowly, though, he’s relinquished some of his control to Cesc. Lets him do the grocery shopping and drop of the rent check. Lets him pick out shower curtains. But this is different. He lays his palm over the back of Cesc’s hand, laces his fingers through the empty notches. “I want you to.” He pulls Cesc’s hand until a finger slips between his cheeks.

Iker grins at Cesc, whose eyes are wide and mouth is open. “Iker. What are you doing?”

“You don’t want to?” Iker pulls his hand back, lets Cesc trace a finger down his crack. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

But then Cesc’s pressing forward, kissing Iker. Moaning against his lips. He presses a dry finger against Iker’s entrance, presses, presses until he’s barely inside. Groans at the tightness. “I’ve never—”

And Iker nods, “That’s fine.” He kisses Cesc once more before rolling on his back, pushing his briefs down to his knees, wriggling out of them. “I haven’t in a long time.”

There’s a moment when Iker thinks Cesc’s reverting back to the kid who blushed the first time he touched Iker’s cock. But, then, Cesc reaching over Iker’s body, grabbing for the lube. Settling between Iker’s thighs.

Cesc spends too much time finger Iker and, twice, Iker says, “Cesc, please,” squeezing his cock.

But Cesc pushes on, grinning down at him. Whispering, teasing, “You better not come until I’m fucking you, baby.”

Iker spreads his legs a little wider, grips his cock a little tighter, groans a little louder.


End file.
